The Other Woman
by Puredeadthingy
Summary: Lola and Brice have been living together happily, but he's not been himself lately. Is he having an affair, or is it something else?


The Other Woman

As Lola stretched out in the bed she shared with Brice, she happened to glance over at the clock. It was 3am, and something was niggling at her. Brice had been distant that night; they'd been watching the news together and every time reference was made to the next day, he had looked a little ill. Lola had asked him what was wrong, and he refused to tell her; eventually he'd gone to bed, early and surly. Only twenty minutes later, she too had gone up, seeing if his feelings would change as she slipped next to him; but all she'd found were an open bottle of sleeping pills and Brice sleeping the sleep of the dead. So she'd covered him with the duvet, and changed, and lain next to her boyfriend, all the while with a sensation like somebody was twisting her stomach. Brice was never like this.

She turned over; trying to rid the worries from her mind, but with a change of position came no respite. The glowing green numbers seemed to be watching her; she could almost feel whenever another minute clicked by. Brice being so out-of-sorts was affecting her, much as the feminist in her didn't bow to any man's whims.

At 3.12am, Lola got herself a glass of water, feeling the ache in her muscles that told her she should be resting and the chunky glass wobble in her hand. Her feet were lead, heavy metal meeting the cold tile, and her stomach rebelled again as she stood in the shadowy bathroom, drinking the lukewarm water and staring into the nothingness out of the window. Then her slim hand reached out hesitantly and took hold of Brice's bleached jeans, carelessly slung over the side of the bath. If she couldn't sleep, she could tidy up.

At 3.13 am, a receipt spun slowly from the pocket of the denim to land by the plughole. Lola fished it out, glancing idly at what was written there before intending to throw it in the bin; the twining vines around the shop logo had her interested.

DAISY CHAIN FLORISTS  
Rose and Lily bouquet  
LARGE: £58.50  
Total: £58.50  
CASH: £60.00  
Change Due: £01.50

And Lola immediately froze. Was this why he had been tense? Was this why he had shrugged off her kisses before bedtime and why he had not been talkative? Did he have another girl in his life? Was she not good enough? Those flowers had not been presented to her. Lola checked the date again and swallowed. They had been bought that day; and Brice was not so forgetful as to buy flowers for her and then leave them somewhere. He had told her once that he drove him with them strapped in the passenger seat, so they wouldn't be crushed. Brice took romance seriously when it came to her, because it made her happy—he wanted so much to make her happy—

Lola felt herself crumpling to the floor as she stared at the paper, wondering if staring at it enough would make it give up its secrets to her. She swallowed, breathing carefully as the harsh corner of the scales jabbed into her hip. It brought her back to reality. Don't be silly, she told herself sternly. It was probably just his Mum's birthday and he reckoned he should make an effort—or maybe someone was leaving at work and he had to buy the flowers for them. _Breathe_, Sanchez, she ordered herself, shivering a little. For all the rational thoughts she could think of, the big, irrational, 'He's having an affair' one seemed to overrule them all.

At 3.20am, when she had rinsed out the cup and checked she didn't have a bruise from the incident with the cruel scales, Lola Sanchez went back to bed. She hid the receipt carefully in the top drawer of her bedside table and looked over at Brice, who was curled up and away from her, as she lay down. The curtains were slightly open, and a shaft of moonlight hit the space between the two.  
Lola slept fitfully, plagued with bad dreams and bad thoughts.

The day dawned obnoxiously bright and cheerful. Lola was so exhausted she didn't get up for her customary run at 6.00am, and so crabby from her suspicions and her lousy night she wished the damn birds would shut up. Brice, uncharacteristically, was up by the time she woke for a second time, at 6.59; he was dressed, and shaving. Lola sat up, the sick feeling creeping into her stomach even in her sleepy state. He looked almost like a zombie; no small smile, no 'hey, babe...', no 'Why didn't you go for a run?' or even 'You look tired.'

Lola sat up, and put her arms around her knees, resting her chin there. 'Where you off to today, then?'

'Emerald Court.' His eyes flickered over to her, and back again. Lola refused to let his curt response worry her. Normally, yes, he'd be raving about the newest band he'd heard and how he was going to get the label to sign them if it was the last thing he'd do, or moaning that in the last couple of weeks all he'd heard were piles of rap crap and he despaired of ever finding a diamond amongst all the demos he had to listen to. Not today. Today, just great yawning chasms of silence.

Lola shivered, and shrugged a little, searching for a further question. 'Why?'

'Meeting.' He didn't even say it with his usual disgust, though he really couldn't abide sitting and talking when something needed to be done instead. He turned, washing out the razor, and looked at her for a second. 'I'll be home late.'  
'Long meeting,' Lola managed, struck by the coolness of his eyes, normally so happy and loving. He just nodded. 'Mm. Bye.' And then he walked over to her. Lola straightened her back, ready for his kiss; and he just slung his bag over his shoulder, exiting the room.

She shivered again, and drew the duvet around her shoulders. Something was definitely up, and it was very worrying to know that the receipt was probably involved. It could still be that he bought flowers for his family, but roses and lilies? Brice would sooner have sent Laura de Winter a Venus flytrap. No—they'd have to talk tonight. She should get out of bed. Yes, she thought, as she snuggled down into the warm depths, bed should be condemned if she wanted to make the most of her day off...

8.15am. Lola was woken by the postman shoving a multitude of bills through the letterbox unnecessarily loudly. She only cursed him a little, feeling a little less headachey from her sleep, stretched, and got up. Her first pilgrimage was made to the sink, where she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put deodorant on, studiously ignoring the bath area. She dressed simply; maroon jumper, nice jeans, slippers, and ran a brush through her unruly hair. When she turned to the door, she'd almost forgotten about the possible other woman—until she saw her slightly-open bedside table drawer.

In low spirits again, she left the room and walked down the stairs. The bills were gathered without much enthusiasm and chucked on the phone table. She _had_ planned to go shopping, but there was no point when she was in this state; she'd just buy lots of things she didn't need and would never wear. Last time she went shopping in a bad mood, she'd ended up with a pink leopard-print skirt and teal-and-orange shoes. Maybe she should just organise a really nice meal, or something, get Brice to tell her what was the matter after plying him with cake...yeah, good idea! Slightly cheered up, Lola switched on the kettle as she picked up the phone to ring Emerald Court.

'Hello, is Brice de Winter there?'

'No, sorry.' It was some anonymous secretary.

No problem. 'Um, when he gets in for his meeting, could you—'

'Meeting?' The man sounded baffled. 'There're no meetings booked for today, there's a training course.'

The kettle came to a boil behind her as Lola bit her lip. It wasn't his fault, though she wanted to yell at him. 'How dare there not be any meetings?!' she wanted to cry, and proceed to ream him out for—what? Still she persisted. 'Well—he must be on the course, then.'

'I'm sorry,'—she could hear the clacking on computer keys—'It's just Butterfly Industries, and I can't see a 'de Winter' on the list...'

Lola put the phone down for a second, rubbing her face. Then she picked it up again, stared blankly ahead for a second, and replied. 'Oh. Thank you,' she said with no tone, and ended the call.

She sat there long enough at the table for the water to be cold once she tried to pour herself a cup of coffee. Lola rinsed out the cafetiere and refilled the kettle, setting it to boil again. Right. Just breathe, and there's a totally rational explanation for why he lied to you, despite always stressing honesty and its importance in a relationship. He still loves you.

This train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. Lola thanked her lucky stars for it, and, figuring she had plenty of time before the kettle boiled, walked to the door and opened it gratefully.

The young woman standing there looked about as great as Lola felt. She was pretty if you squinted, but up close you noticed she was far too pale. Her hair looked to be black, but it was a pale sort of black—almost as if she hadn't been in the sun for years. The only really vivid part about her were her eyes—like emeralds, though that could be the association with the 'meeting' place. Lola couldn't even recall what her clothes had looked like afterwards.

She took a deep breath as Lola opened the door, and smiled gently as her greeting. 'Hi—is this still twelve, Blackbird Crescent?'

'Yeah,' Lola said, puzzled. 'Um, can I help you...?'

'Sorry,' the woman apologised. 'My name is Melanie. I used to live here.' She paused. 'I was just in the area, and I wondered—how it had turned out. I know Brice,' she supplied. 'Does he still live here?'

She must have sold the house to him, Lola reasoned, and smiled back. 'Yeah, he does—we live here together. I'm his—' She hesitated. 'Girlfriend.' Odd. The woman just nodded, like she already knew. 'I'm Lola Sanchez. Do you want to come in?' she asked, hoping for a distraction. 'I've got some coffee, you can see the house.'

'I'd love to,' Mel replied, and in that instant she seemed to almost be floating, as she stepped into the house. 'It's beautiful,' she complimented as Lola shut the door, looking around the nestling array of jackets, hats, coats and scarves on the hat-stand and the gloves lying on the table along with the stamped brown envelopes.

It didn't look particularly lovely to Lola, and she saw with a twinge of pity when she glanced at the stand, following Mel's gaze, that he'd forgotten to grab his coat this morning. Something had to be wrong. She could make a meal without consulting him—he liked steak, didn't he—and they could talk...Lola realised she was probably being inhospitable, and looked into Mel's questioning face. 'Sorry—I've got a lot on my mind,' she apologised, opening the door to the kitchen, and Mel nodded. 'I won't stay long, Lola. I was just in the neighbourhood...'

That wasn't what Lola meant, but Mel didn't seem to be saying it like she had to take a hint. She sounded regretful, and as she settled at the kitchen table, she looked wistful. Lola turned her back to pour the drinks, and Melanie started to talk.

'It really is lovely, Lola. It's changed since I was here last—much brighter, more vibrant. You've been really good for him.'

That made Lola stiffen. 'Excuse me?'

'Oh, no, I didn't mean for it to sound like that!' Mel sounded horrified. 'Not at all. It's just that Brice—well, you two complement each other, and if he'd just stop—' Lola was about to turn, but she could sense Mel behind her. She set the kettle down, and listened hard and long, feeling nothing but the now. 'Lola, he has to let me go. I can't rest.'

That _did_ make her turn. Lola's brown eyes were ready to spark with anger, but Mel looked so pale, and not-there...

'You're the other woman!' she accused, and Mel winced.

'Yes,' she said sadly. 'I suppose I am. But it's not what you think. I want you two together, and so does he; but he's standing in the way of it.'

'Who are you, really?' Lola asked, made dizzy with her suspicions being confirmed and her expectations of how the mistress should act completely overturned. Her hands shook as she leant on the side, and Mel looked infinitely nervous. 'Oh, I've cocked it up,' she murmured, and shook her head. 'I'm just Mel. Lola—' Her words took on a compelling sound. 'Shut your eyes.'

And although her eyes did close, when Lola forced them open a nanosecond later, 'Mel' was gone, and only a faint smell of lilacs remained. Lola looked around wildly for the girl, then came to her senses and put her hand to her head, feeling her forehead; no wonder she was hallucinating, if she was that tired and so feverish. Lola went back to bed, brain blocking any more thoughts of what had just happened simply because she simply—totally simply—just couldn't deal with it.

6.48pm. Lola was woken by Brice coming into the room and stroking her forehead carefully. 'Babe, are you okay?' he asked, and Lola was inclined to believe that the whole of last night was a terrible dream. He looked totally normal, totally himself, if a bit sad. She nodded, and winced. 'No. Bad night, and I'm coming down with something.' Then words rolled off her tongue she didn't want to say. 'Where were you, really, today?'

He looked ashamed, as he clambered onto the bed and held her close to his chest. 'You rang Emerald, huh.'

Lola shut her eyes, and felt the hot tears seep over her cheeks. 'I knew it. You were lying. You're having an affair...'

'No! Lola, no,' he replied, horror in his voice, and kissed the top of her head. 'I'd never cheat on you, never. I love you.' It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but Lola relaxed as he spoke. It seemed like the first time he'd really, truly meant it; straight from his heart to his lips.

'There was a girl,' she managed, turning over to look at him. 'Melanie...'

And then he looked incredibly wounded, and it was Lola's turn to kiss his cheek and listen. He started by saying he wasn't surprised she found out, how unsubtle he was, but he didn't ever want to hurt her. Lola felt sick again, but he continued. He confessed to the flowers, for Melanie; Melanie was no rival of hers. Melanie was—he had to stop, to swallow, and continue—Melanie was dead. She was his previous girlfriend, and she'd lived with him for six months, and then she was killed, and he was so sorry he hadn't told her, he didn't want to burden her, but the flowers—it was the anniversary of her death, and he took the day off work, and he didn't—he never meant to mislead her—

Lola stroked his head, shushing and rocking him. He, in turn, held her and covered her face in kisses. The wind blew outside and the two didn't care, because they would protect each other. They promised.

The sun went down. They stepped off the bed, as if taking their first new steps into the world, and they held hands, and they went down the stairs, and they were in love.

Somewhere outside, Mel felt their union grow stronger. She let go of the arrangement of roses and lilies, and sighed happily, tears trickling down her face. He would be _happy._

Melanie surrendered herself to the wind as Brice de Winter finally let her go, with Lola holding his hand the whole way through.


End file.
